“Huh?” He lifts his brow and leans forward as if he’s somehow misheard me. “Did you just call me an asshole?”
“Yes, I did.” I stand a little taller. “You’re an asshole, and I think you should leave.”
“You want me to leave?”
“Right now.”
His initial expression of confusion shifts into something in between wounded and annoyed. “I asked you this morning if you were OK with us coming over. You told us dinner was at seven. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember that.” I reach for the wine bottle and top off my mostly untouched glass. “And now I’ve changed my mind.”
“What am I supposed to tell Sarah? You want me to interrupt her talking to your sister and tell her that you’ve changed your mind and now we need to leave? That’s not right. You can’t just take back an invite after you’ve already given it, Penny.”
He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and something inside me pops like a champagne flute shattering on concrete.
“Why not? People take back things they give all the time.” I press my finger into his chest. “In fact, some people not only take things back, but they also give them away to new people. That, Smith Mackenzie, is not right.”
“What are you talking about?” He pushes my hand away. “You’re not making any sense at all.”
“I’m making perfect sense.” I lower my voice to a growl. “What isn’t making sense is you and that air fryer sitting in my dining room.”
“Are you drunk?”
“There you two are,” my mother says. She’s standing in the hallway holding a glass of something bubbly. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys.”
She glides across the den in her silk chiffon caftan. Her hair is done up in one of those big, sweeping updos that Southern women come out of the womb knowing how to do. Her makeup is bold and dramatic, which makes her look a little like a love child between Blanche Devereaux and a drag queen.
“Honey, did you forget to finish your makeup?” She grabs my chin. “Your lips are naked.”
“My lips are fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“If you say so.” She turns her attention to Smith. “Carter is looking for you. He has another travel question. I swear the man thinks he’s Indiana Jones or something now. You can find him in the living room.”
Smith’s gaze darts between my mother and me like a child unsure of which parent is the one he should actually be listening to.
“Smith, is everything OK?” my mother asks slowly. “You do remember your way around the house, don’t you?”
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Must’ve had a brain fart. I’m going to go into the living room because you told me to, Silvia.”
He backs out of the den cautiously, keeping eye contact with me as if at any moment I might tackle him to the ground.
“Brain fart?” My mother crinkles her nose. “I hope he doesn’t say that at the dinner table.”
“Would you prefer he say brain flatulence?”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
“I think that’s what Emily Post recommends.”
“So, what do you think of Martin?” She runs her fingers through my hair. “You two seem to be getting along nicely.”
“Yep.”
“That’s it?”
“It is.”
“Knock, knock!” A voice sends a chill down my neck. “Oh my gosh, are we wearing the same dress, Penny?”
Sarah leans against the doorframe, and for a moment, I wonder whether I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Not only is she in the same floral dress as me, but our shoes are shockingly similar and our hair is styled almost identically. The woman full-out Parent Trapped me.
“Everyone’s in the living room listening to Smith talk about traveling.” She rolls her eyes as if nothing in the world could be more boring. “I’m trying to round everyone up so we can eat. I’ve got a ridiculously early flight tomorrow.”
“Well, we’d hate to keep you late,” my mother says in her best “bless your heart” voice. “I’ll go get Marie.”
My mother leaves me alone with the air fryer, which feels a million times more offensive than the time she accidentally left me at the grocery store. At least at the grocery store I could scream at the top of my lungs and cry and people would come and help me. If I do that now, they’re probably just going to have me committed.